


Change the Equation

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Chainlink.</p><p>Seamus is bored, Dean is pouty. Things fall apart from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change the Equation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).
> 
> ***
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Another fun little Seamus and Dean slash fic from yours truly. Not the last, either. I've already got another pathetically sappy S/D ready to be typed. As you lot probably know, I don't own Hogwarts' pretty boys or pretty girls. I wouldn't mind owning a Seamus and a Lavender and a Draco and a... well, I wouldn't mind owning the entire Hogwarts population, but the point is that I don't. Kay? Kay.

Bored, bored, bored. I am so impossibly bored. I hate being bored, don't you? It's so boring. I'm sitting here, fidgeting in one of the common room's fluffy armchairs, fightback tears just because I'm so bored. There's nothing to do. Nothing!

Play chess? Can't. Ron, my usual opponant is off doing something else. Like Lee Jordan. Or maybe Lee would be doing Ron. I don't know. I've never had any desire to figure out who tops in their relationship.

Go outside? Too cold. End of story.

Do homework? That's worse than being bored! Has it really come down to this? Homework is my last option? What has this world become when a cute Irish boy like me has nothing better to do in school than homework?

Wait! There's another option! Talk to Dean! ... Which is another no- go since Dean and I are currently in an incredibly stupid fight that is entirely his fault.

Well, at least that supplies me with another option, doesn't it? Brood about the fight. Perfect. I knew I'd come up with a brilliant idea to save me from boredom eventually. I'm so amazing.

See, it was all Dean's fault, like I said, and when have I lied? Don't answer that; it was rhetorical. It was Dean's fault because he was being all distant and spacy and depressed and pouty and stuff. So, like a good friend -- see that? Like a good friend! Good friend! Those are the keywords! I was being a nice guy, totally not at fault -- I asked what was wrong. Well, stupid teenage angst Dean tells me I wouldn't understand. Seriously, talk about best friend fight cliches! You'd think that at the very least Dean could be original.

Predictably, the fight escalated from there. You know how it goes. I whined, trying to get him to tell me, he got snappish, I started poking him and turned up the annoyance level, he yelled, I yelled, he yelled louder, I slapped him, he punched me. Jerk. I hate fights.

So you see, it was totally his fault! Not mine. Even though I pressed him for information when I shouldn't have and even though I hit him first. Totally, completely, absolutely 100% Dean's fault.

I bet he's telling everyone it was my fault.

I bet he's showing people the slap mark on his face and telling everyone I viciously attacked him.

I bet he's calling me a girl for slapping him and telling people I'm a pansy -- which I am, really, but not's get technical, alright?

... Or he might be the one crying quietly in that armchair in the corner of the common room. Shit. I'm the reason he's crying, aren't I? I hate it when he cries, but I hate it even worse when I'm the reason he cries. It makes it really, really hard for me to comfort him when I made him upset in the first place.

Oh well, I'd better try anyways.

I walk up to him and plunk myself into the chair next to him. "Hey, Dean. Sorry about that bitchslap earlier," I apologize in my best cheerful 'I'm happy, you be happy!' voice.

He glares at me through his tears. Not a good sign. "Go away," he snaps bitterly. At least, I think that's what he says. I'm usually pretty good at translating the language of sad-Dean, but he sounded kind of choked, more sob-wracked than usual. Another not-good sign. He's really upset.

Time for the subtle approach: "Dean, I'm trying to make you feel better!" Okay, forget the subtle approach.

"You can't."

"Let me try."

"You'll only make me feel worse. Leave me alone! Go get that black eye treated by Madame Pomfrey," Dean's using his scary do-or-die voice. Eep. Better do as he says.

I touch my bruised eye gingerly as I stand up. It hurts a lot. I should probably be mad at Dean for hitting me like that, but I've never been too good at holding grudges. Besides, I guess I might of kinda sorta almost maybe deserved it. I walk out the door, then smile as Dean hesitantly follows.

"Does my eye really look bad enough for me to have to suffer through Pomfrey's mother hen treatment?" I ask mildly once we're a ways down the hall. I hear him jump a little. What? Did he think he was super-stealth and I wouldn't notice him trudging three feet behind me?

He walks a little faster until we're side by side and gives me a wry smile. "It looks bad enough that I wouldn't really blame you if you never spoke to me again." He conjures a mirror for me even though it's against the rules to do magic in the corrdors and even though Dean never breaks the rules.

I smile at him. That's his way of apologizing. Then I look into the mirror. "Oh, damn!" I yelp, surprised. I've never seen my eye so swollen and so... so... I dunno if there's even a word for it! So technicolored? "Dean, you're right! Now that I know how much I should be hurting, I'm never speaking to you again!"

"Good! The dorms will be a lot quieter," Dean teases, shoving me playfully. I stick my tongue out at him and we both laugh, not because anything was particularly funny, but just because we're not fighting anymore. I love laughing like that.

The laughter gradually fades, and Dean is staring at me oddly and I'm staring back just as oddly. We lean in close together, close enough that I think we're about to kiss. I just barely realize that I wouldn't particularly mind kissing Dean when he pulls me into a very non-kissy, best friend hug with extra tightness. "I don't want to lose you," he tell me firmly.

The hug feels really nice. It's a cold hallway, but Dean's warmth is all around me, seeping through my skin and into the soul. Dean in safe, comforting me and feeling like home. Did you know he smells like apple pie and like that cologne that tickles my nose? I did. I do.

I hug him back with the same super-sized tightness. "You'll never lose me! You're stuck with me for life!"

But is he? Because he said he never wanted to lose me and I know him well enough to know what he meant by that. He didn't mean Seamus Finnigan, he meant me, the bouncy-happy sixteen year old who was his very best friend. I'd have to grow up someday. We both would. We'd grow up, get jobs, get married, have kids. But we'd never have this carefree age of innocence again, would we? We'd lose this perfect friendship of childish hugs and late night crawling into each others' bed after nightmares and snuggling into the same armchair in front of the fire drinking hot chocolate knicked from the kitchens and all the love between teens who aren't really adults.

I tried to picture adult-me and adult-Dean. Even if we both still lived in the Hogwarts dorms, which we couldn't, it wouldn't work. Two adult men just didn't snuggle or share a bed or hug or love each other. This friendship we have now will have to evolve into something else.

I hug Dean tighter and he hugs me tighter. "That's what I was worried about earlier, before we fought. I don't want to lose you." Dean murmurs.

"You won't," I assure him, determined now to make sure he never loses me to some imposter adult claiming to be Seamus Finnigan.

"But we'll lose this eventually. We have to grow up and find other people to love," Dean tries to put into words what I've just figured out. He looks pained, as if he's just been betrayed. He thinks I couldn't figure that out even though I've always understood him so well. He shouldn't underestimate me like that!

"You won't lose me," I repeat impatiently, because I've figured this part out for sure now. "We'll grow up, but we're special. We won't turn out like the rest of them. We'll be able to love each other forever."

Dean shakes his head and pulls out of our hug. The hall is cold without his embrace. "You're going to get married to Lavender or Parvati or some girl I've never met and I'll have to share you. You'll have a little Seamus jr. and a dog and live happily ever after in your house with a three car garage--"

"I won't have a garage. I'll be living in the wizarding world, remember?" I interject helpfully. Seeing the look on his face, I add, "And I'm not getting married, either! You're all the family I need!"

Dean looks at me doubtfully, despairingly, hopelessly, helplessly. "Seamus! You can't not get married!"

Was that a challenge? I would have thought Dean knew me better than that. I should probably be insulted, but Dean's upset, so I'll give him a break and forgive him. "Bet I can!"

Dean smiles, but it's not a happy smile. "Only because you're stubborn. You'll fall in love with Ms. Right and want to marry her. Then you'll remember that promise and hate me for the rest of your life."

"I can't ever hate you," I protest, but he's right about everything else. Doesn't he ever get tired of being right? It must be a strenuous lifestyle, not that I would know. I should probably predict a stress related heart attack for him in Divinations. Trelawney should appretiate that one.

Right. Back on topic. He's right. I mean, I definitely plan on falling in love with someone and wouldn't it be unfair if I never married the person I love? Besides, that wouln't avoid the original problem because Dean would still be stuck sharing me with some girl (or more likely, a guy, but I'm not going into that with Dean right now).

There has to be a way for us to be super close and have no one ever come between us while still allowing me to fall in love and get married, right?

Not really.

On one hand I could be Dean's best friend forever. On the other hand I could fall in love and get married. Two totally different appendages. There wasn't any comprimise.

... Was there? Have I been trying to solve this problem the wrong way?

I stare at Dean. He's tall, muscular from Quidditch, has spectacular eyes, calloused hands from too much drawing, a ringing smile, and I never ever feel as warm and happy as when I'm with him.

I think I could fall in love with him very, very easily.

Actually, I think I already have.

"I've found the answer to all our problems!" I cheer.

"What?" Dean arches both his eyebrows because even though he can arch just one if he wanted, Malfoy's already trademarked that expression, and who would want to do something Malfoy trademarked?

There's a blast-ended skrewt in my stomach, maybe even three or four. They're creeping and crawling and rocketing around my insides. Either that or I'm suddenly feeling nervous that Dean won't like my idea about falling in love with only each other. I think it's skrewts because I've never, ever been nervous about talking, especially not to Dean. I plunge on and talk, ignoring the skrewts. "What if... You know... I fell in love with you? I wouldn't need anyone else then. I could fall in love with you and maybe you could fall in love with me and we could get married and never marry anyone else and do all the stuff we've always done forever." Dean's eyes are still raised dubiously. "Seamus, I thought the point here was to make sure nothing would change," he reminds me. Luckily, I've been Dean's friend since for a long time and it hasn't been for nothing. I can hear that strain in his voice that says he's about to start crying, and you'd have to be blind not to see that the smile he has on is the happy one he reserves for Christmas presents.

"It wouldn't be different!" I insist. "We're best friends and we love each other. That's how my mum describes her relationship with Da. And look at Harry and Hermione! Best friends in love. And did you know Lavender thought we were already boyfriends? Nothing will change!"

But Dean changes everything right then, just to be contrary. He steps forward closer to me so that there's no distance at all between our lips. Kissing Dean is not like hugging him. Hugs are comfortable and safe. Kisses are scalding and wild. The kiss is clumsy at first as we try to figure out where to put our hands and whether or not we're supposed to close our eyes.

Then it ends and we're both smiling giddily.

"A few things will change," I relent. "But I'm not complaining, are you?"


End file.
